We Are the Freedom Riders


United States
38° 49' 37.5924" N, 94° 47' 23.5428" W

The bus is hot as it rolls, and with the number of bodies is
Sticky air and sweat-wet seats and the raw smell of humans.

We are the freedom riders, the
Beaten at bus stops and booed as we walk.

We are the black and the white,
Cascading dominoes in this long and twisty path that won’t be over until the last one

It is our blood on the ground, spilled for the brotherhood of

We are the freedom riders, and we are the oppressed.

We are the freedom riders, and we are the future.

Guide that inspired this poem: 



It is so great to see something that references towards the past, something so important that I'm sure not many people think of even remember was in their history textbook these days. But somehow you were able to write a beautiful powerfully strong piece about it, and I enjoyed reading it. Thank you for sharing!


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